


March 27th

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, James' Birthday, Marauders' Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-10-13 02:11:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10504278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: A little short birthday story for James Potter, and a life well lived."To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people just exist." -Oscar Wilde





	

_ March 27th, 1960. _

“Hello darling,” she cooed. 

The baby cooed right back, and wrapped his tiny hand around her pinky finger with surprising strength. 

She looked up at her husband and smiled at the expression on his face: one of awe, amazement, and above all,  _ love _ .

Euphemia looked up at Fleamont, as he reached out a hand and held the child’s face gently. 

“I don’t think Harold works for him,” she quietly said, gently stroking the boy’s unbelievably soft wispy curls. He gave out a little squeal of delight and smiled brightly at her. 

“James,” Fleamont said out of nowhere. “James.” 

Euphemia stared at him. 

“James… for my father?” she asked, her voice gentle. He nodded, and gulped. 

“James. James Potter.” 

Fleamont gave a little sniff, and smiled tearfully at his son. 

“Hello, James Potter.” 

_ March 27th, 1971. _

James’ first birthday at Hogwarts was…eventful, to say the least. 

He was scribbling something about Amortentia or something of the other—even  _ he _ didn’t know, when all of a sudden his vision went black with the feeling of a cloth being tied over his eyes.

“Oi!” 

“Guess whose birthday?” Sirius’ sang out loudly tackling James onto his bed. 

“Let—me—GO!” James struggled against him: fierce kicking and shouting, but to no avail, his face was still being repeatedly plummeted into the soft pillows. 

“Let me copy off you for the next month!”

“Never!” 

“Oh, well, I gave you a chance,” Sirius said, mockingly mournful.

James then felt himself being dragged off the bed and out of his room. Suddenly the hand guiding him along was no longer there.

“This way—” he heard a faint voice, and staggered blindly towards its vague direction. 

After cursing profusely and yanking at the blindfold, which was obviously charmed, he stumbled down the staircase blindly—quite literally—and was nearly almost the the end, when he took a step just a bit too far.

James toppled down the rest of the steps and and landed flat on his face. 

He heard a quiet flash go off in the corner, accompanied by a gleeful chortle.

“Petey, Sirius didn’t plug my ears, I can hear the bloody camera, you know!” he exclaimed, blindly groping to his left to try and grab it. 

He heard another shutter click and lunged.

“Oop!” the voice was now behind him. Or, rather, over him. 

“Almost got me there, Potter!”

“Keep up the good work Petey, more blackmail the better!” Remus hollered. After multiple falls, many shutter clicks, and lots and lots of laughter, the blindfold was ripped off James’ face, and he was greeted with a plethora of brightness and red. 

HAPPY BIRTHDAY JAMES!!!! was sloppily painted on a banner that looked like someone had dragged it across the entire length of Hogwarts. Repeatedly.

But the smile on James’ face was indescribable. 

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY POTTER!” The crowd in front of him yelled, and James’ smile widened even more. 

_ March 27th, 1972. _

James’ second birthday at Hogwarts was nearly as good as his first. 

Remus had nicked chocolate from the kitchens, and Peter had gotten a bag of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans with all of the gross ones out. (“The things I do for you,” he had said dramatically after recounting about a particularly nasty earwax bean.)

Sirius, however, wasn’t anywhere to be seen. 

They had hung the streamers and banners like last year, but no one had seen Sirius.

“Mr. Potter! What is all this?” a stern voice suddenly asked behind him, and James nearly jumped out of his skin. 

“Professor McGonagall!” he said with a nervous laugh. She merely raised an eyebrow. 

“Professor, you see, it’s Jamsies’ birthday today,”  a slick voice said from behind her, and James immediately recognised it as Sirius’. 

“Sirius!” James yelled.

“Didn’t think I’d miss your birthday, did ya?” Sirius beamed and tackled him to the ground. 

They got into such a fight that McGonagall had to physically wrench the two apart, nearly joining in the fight herself, and then, just when she had managed to separate the two, Peter came around the corner and flung James’ birthday cake onto their faces. 

“Petey!” Sirius hollered, and grabbed a handful of cake, smearing it into Peter’s wide smile. 

James did the same to Remus, who had arrived to see what was going on, only to be greeted by a faceful of frosting.

It quickly escalated into a complete food fight.

“Boys!” McGonagall barked as she dodged a wad of icing. “Detention! All of you!” 

The four laughed, and gladly followed her to her classroom, still flicking the occasional speck of food at each other behind her back. 

James may have spent his 12th birthday in detention, but he spent it with his friends, and that’s all that seemed to have mattered. 

_ March 27th, 1973. _

James 13th birthday was spent in the Headmaster’s office. 

His father had been injured in a battle. 

His mother had come to collect him that day, and they headed for St. Mungo’s, and as the startling bright green fire surrounded him, he begged that his father would be alright. 

_ That’s my only birthday wish this year,  _ he had thought desperately. 

Right before they had left, his mother had pulled him aside. 

“James, I know this is going to be hard,” she began, “seeing your father hurt, that is.” 

He thought he heard her voice tremble a bit. 

“I know Mum. But he’s going to be alright. I just know it,” he said, grabbed his mother’s hand, and holding onto it tightly. “He’s going to be alright,” he said fiercely.

Her eyes watered, and she kissed him on the cheek and gave his hand a little squeeze. 

“When did you get so mature?” she tried to joke. James gave her a sad smile. 

_ March 27th, 1974. _

“Hey Evans!” he hollered across the classroom. “Did you know that it’s my birthday?” 

She glared at him, and James could see her hand twitching in rage. However, his smile only got wider, and perhaps, more infuriating. 

“Well,  _ happy birthday, _ Potter,” she sneered, and walked off to talk to the Snape boy. 

James’ grin got even wider. 

It may not have been genuine, or true, or have any type of meaning whatsoever, but Lily Evans wished him happy birthday, and perhaps, that was enough. 

_ March 27th, 1975. _

James’ 15th birthday was by the Shrieking Shack, right outside the door where Remus was. 

“He’s safe now. Let’s head back.”

They had already done this twice, James had finally perfected his transformation—the teasing from Sirius never seemed to end, as he was the last to achieve the Animagus status. 

Sirius nodded silently, and Peter placed a spell on the door to keep it from breaking down. They had made that mistake before. 

Then, James willed himself, his mind, his body, his feelings, to transform. 

_ Feet first, then legs, then torso, then neck, then head,  _ he recited, and when he had finished, a graceful prancing stag had replaced him. 

Soon, a large black dog, and a squeaking mouse had appeared before James. 

They had snuck out of the shack, and headed towards Hogwarts. 

A mournful howl echoed through the sky. James looked up at the full moon, and thought, 

_ I hope you’re alright Remus. _

_ March 27th, 1976. _

James’ 16th birthday was spent giddily and completely wasted. 

Sirius ( _ such _ a good wingman) had snuck the drinks and the cake. 

After cracking a particularly bad joke, Lily glanced over with annoyance and exasperation, she had glared like always—but this time, she kissed him right after. 

He kissed her back with everything he had. 

“I love you, you know?” His speech was slurred and floppy, but he meant every word. 

She drew back, lips still parted, seemed shocked for a moment.

But then she kissed him again, and ruffled his hair gently. 

“I love you too, dork.”

James could’ve sailed over the moon with his joy. 

_ Lily Evans _ loved him.

_ March 27th, 1977. _

James’ 17th birthday was special. He was becoming of age after all. 

When he was asked by Lily what he wanted, he simply replied, “I have everything I could ever want in the world.”

And it was true. He had Lily as a girlfriend, had his best mates with him every step he took, had his parents as well as could be—truly, he had everything. 

James was privileged beyond belief and he knew it. 

And he couldn’t have been more thankful. 

For his birthday, his parents took him out to dinner, along with all of his friends, and they had spent the night laughing, smiling, and the joy had cut a deep slice into the ongoing darkness. 

But joy doesn’t last, and it never will. 

On James’ 17th birthday, the birthday that you’re supposed to celebrate with everything you’ve got, bright green spells were shot above their heads, and the young were told to flee, and the old were told to fight. 

Sixteen died that night. 

Many of his extended family.

Two of his friends.

And his parents.

James’ 17th birthday was special. He was becoming of age after all. 

And he remembered his 17th birthday. Yes, he certainly did.

He wished he didn’t.

_ March 27th, 1978. _

James spent his 18th birthday with just Lily, just the two of them, as they sat together on his bed, Lily beginning to stir from her sleep, and James fiddling with the small heavy box in his pocket. 

“Good morning Potter,” Lily said, her voice groggy and tired, though her eyes were brimming with love. 

“Morning to you too, Evans,” he replied, and rolled to his side to face her. 

“It’s your eighteenth birthday, isn’t it?” she asked, her voice quiet and gentle. He nodded. 

“Happy Birthday,” Lily whispered, but the words fell flat. They both knew what was going through each other’s minds. 

It had been a year since those sixteen innocent people had died.

A year since both of his parents were found dead on the blood splattered floor of the restaurant in Hogsmeade.

And this birthday, they both sat silently, in memory of the sixteen whom had died.  

_ March 27th, 1979. _

James’ 19th birthday passed with him lying in a hospital bed, Lily by his side. 

He had been injured in a duel two days before, and had nearly lost his life. 

The bright green of the spells still ran through his head, along with twinges of phantom pain that were not even a fraction of its origin. He knew it was the same with Lily. 

They had faced Voldemort twice now, and they had escaped him, twice. 

And it gave him a new perspective. He knew who he was going to spend the rest of his life with. 

Yes, he was young, and yes, he was foolish. But he wouldn’t be young forever, and he might not even be alive for much longer. 

The small heavy box he constantly kept in the pocket of his pants felt much heavier. 

He was going for it all.

_ March 27th, 1980. _

For his 20th birthday, he spent it dueling two of the most dangerous wizards of all time, watching wordlessly as the spells around him shot bright green and lethal, and as the victims collapsed and never got up. 

He watched as the Bones’ family was slaughtered to pieces, and as he looked into the imperious red slitted eyes, he thought it was over. 

But as wand dueled wand, and as red battled green, he had faced Voldemort a third time, and this time, like the two before, he had survived, but just barely.  

So had Lily. 

And the wedding rings glittered on both of their fourth fingers on their left hands.

_ March 27th, 1981. _

James spent his 21st birthday in hiding, with his 8 month year son in his arms. 

Lily had made him a cake, and he had shared it with Harry, beaming with joy and pride as his son grabbed a fistful and threw it at the cat. Lily had laughed, and he had smiled. 

James remembered saying to Lily, not too long before,

“I’m not afraid to die, because I’ve lived so much already. I’ve had my life with you,” he began. “And we’ve had our wedding, honeymoon…“ he trailed off. “I’m not afraid for myself, I’m afraid for Harry. We’ve  _ lived _ , Lily. He hasn’t.”

And James was very, very right. 

He and Lily had lived. They were 21, but they had lived and loved with all their fragile hearts, and James thought that if he was to die the next day, he would not be frightened. But Harry Potter, he was not to die, not anytime soon.

Harry’s bright giggle roused him from his thoughts, and James smiled fondly at his son. 

“Hey Harry,” he said, as his son raised his arms with a squeal. 

“Up, up!” he exclaimed, and James, with a large grin on his face, previous thoughts dashed away by the sight of his son,  _ his son _ , picked him up with ease and shouldered him onto his shoulders. 

Harry’s laughter rang throughout the house, and James tucked it away in the back of his mind, knowing that he would cherish it forever. 

“Happy Birthday James,” Lily’s soft voice said, as she walked up to him, a slice of cake in hand, and kissed him on the cheek. 

“And to many more,” she continued.

James looked around him—surrounded by his family. Lily was looking at him, her gorgeous green eyes filled with love, and then at Harry, bright and giggling and brimming with life. He had his mother’s eyes, he thought.

He swallowed and then bent down to kiss his son’s head.

“To many more.” 

**Author's Note:**

> This is my little birthday present for the wonderful James Potter, who would've turned 57 this past Monday. You were introduced as dead, and stayed dead, but you gave us beautiful worlds to imagine, and beautiful relationships to create. Thank you, James.   
> Please review if you enjoyed, or tell me what you think! Constructive criticism is always needed.   
> Until the very end,   
> Zigostia


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